Of Bonds Forged in Fire
by crimescenelover
Summary: Steve Rogers follows Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission that is anything but. It's turning into a fight for their lives and a lesson about what partners and SHIELD agents truly means.
1. All of Your Flaws and All of My Flaws

**Title: **Of the Bonds Forged in Fire

**Summary: **Steve Rogers followed Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission. But it turns out to be anything but, as the three Avengers are plunged into a fight for their lives and Steve will know what it truly means to be a SHIELD agent and partners. Set after 'Avengers' but before 'Winter Soldier'

**Chapter title:** All of Your Flaws and All of My Flaws

**Author's Note: **Hello, dear readers. It's me again with my second Avengers story! This is just a random little ficlet that popped into my head and that I needed to write. It was a long time coming and I would lie if I said all the trailers and posters for the new Avengers movie didn't help me on my way. Am I the only one that's completely psyched for the new movie? It can't come soon enough!

Anyways, a little off topic here. I figured Steve would need to see how a good old mission is really done in the 21st century, so this is basically a little exploration of Steve's mindset and how he kinda views the two master assassins and what they do for a living. So that will mainly be what it's about. Also featuring some heavy Clint whumpage because I just can't help myself.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership for any characters you might recognize. This is written for purely entertainment purposes. And frankly, if I owned Hawkeye or Captain America, do you really believe I would be writing this?

* * *

"_In the flames of adversity and hardship are forged the strongest bonds._"

* * *

The rain cascaded down outside, filling the small room with an almost deafening sound as the water drops propelled heavily against the large window. The water covered the glass and obstructed the view of the Slovakian streets like a silvery, shimmering curtain. The sun had gone down hours ago and aside from the few still working street lamps, it was completely dark outside and Steve found it easier focusing at his own face reflected back at him in the window than actually watching the streets down below.

"Will you stop fussing about? Everything's fine," Natasha's casual voice pulled him out of his reverie of watching the raindrops race each other down to the windowsill and he turned his head towards where the assassin was cleaning one of her guns meticulously, sitting leaned back on an old, worn leather couch.

The old couch and the wooden coffee table were basically the only furniture that adorned the small living room, aside from the large, fuzzy, red carpet that had seen way too many feet over the years. In the corner was a tiny little kitchen with a small counter and a rusted fridge, which Steve was surprised even worked. Two doors in the wall opposite the couch led to respectively an even smaller decrepit bathroom and a bedroom with a double bed covered by a thin blanket. In every room of the so-called apartment the floorboards were old and cracked and the wallpaper was torn and discolored. Steve didn't know what to think about SHIELD and their safe houses, when this whole apartment seemed more likely to kill you than the actual enemies they were there for. But he didn't complain or voice his concerns, because he knew that the mission was high-profile and required stealth and skill. And he was here to watch and learn.

"He should have been back by now," Steve argued and turned his attention back to the outside and watching the polished-looking rooftops for any kind of movement.

"He's scouting the target. That takes time. He's probably searching the area too," Natasha said without looking up from her cleaning.

"In this weather?" How she could remain so completely calm baffled him completely. He knew scouting took some time and patience was one of his trades, but Barton had left several hours ago. When the archer had left, the sky had been dry but dark with clouds and since then the weather had only gotten worse and angrier. The captain could see the occasional flash of lightening out in the distance. It didn't help the feeling of dread that was growing in his stomach.

At that, Natasha did look up. As she caught sight of Steve's concerned, questioning stare she sighed and put down the gun on the table with a small clank. "He's worked through worse weather. We both have. Believe it or not, this weather is only helping him."

Curiosity got the better of him and Steve moved away from the window and sat down on the couch next to Romanoff. "How so?"

"Visibility," she quickly explained, sounding almost bored. "When it's pouring down, people tend to look down more than up."

"But it also makes everything slippery. I've worked enough times in snow and ice to know how treacherous it can be. One wrong step can change everything."

"Rain, snow, sunshine or an extraterrestrial attack on New York. One wrong step can happen anytime at any place. The circumstances or weather can perhaps decrease or increase your chance of that step happening, but in the end that's up to you. You alter your approach so they fit the defined parameters. That's how you do your job."

"But a tiny mistake, no matter how unintentional, could still happen for the best of us."

"If so, you won't live long enough to regret it. And if you do, perhaps it's time to find another line of work." Her tone wasn't cold or accusing, but it held a certain icy touch underneath that suggested she wouldn't talk about it anymore.

Steve took the hint and changed the subject slightly.

"But aren't you worried? Not a little bit?" he asked instead. Though he hadn't been with Barton and Romanoff for long, he had seen the two partners interact with each other, including the battle of New York, and knew the two of them to be close. He refused to believe they didn't worry about each other. Something flashed behind the Widow's eyes, but before Steve could identify what it was, it was gone.

"You may have been in war, Rogers, but this is something quite different. Clint and I learned a long time ago that needless worry leads to nothing good. We trust in each other and our skills. That's all I need to know," she finally said. She took one of the bullet clips that lay next to the gun, eyed it quickly and when she was satisfied with it, she placed the magazine in the gun. She clicked the slide into place. Her green gaze fell to Steve again with a reassuring smile.

"Clint's a big boy, Cap. He can take care of himself."

* * *

Time stretched on and the clouds continued to pour their wet contents down upon the city, blocking out the light of the moon and stars of the night sky. Despite what Romanoff had told him, it had not erased the sinking feeling Steve had in his gut that something wasn't quite right. With every minute that passed by without word from Barton, the feeling only grew and festered.

And he knew that it had reached unusual because a little over half an hour ago, Steve noticed Natasha had begun to pace around too. It was subtle hints and nothing in her face suggested her unease. But she hardly stayed stationary in one place for more than a few minutes at the time, finding excuses to move and do something with her hands before they started fidgeting. She switched between loading and re-loading her guns and checking her watch or phone. Steve had never seen her so restless and he instantly knew that something was definitely wrong. Thunder boomed weakly in the distance.

Another half hour passed and after seeing Romanoff check her watch for the umpteenth time, Steve couldn't take it anymore. "Natasha," he said and paused at the look he received. It was hard but he could detect the concern that shone through. "He should have been back by now." He repeated his words from earlier, but this time she didn't dismiss his worry. The floorboards creaked as she supported her weight on her arms on the kitchen counter.

"I know." Her voice was steady and calm, as it always seemed to be, but even with her back to him, Steve could see all of her muscles were tense.

"Shouldn't we go look for him?"

She turned to face him with her green eyes that were as hard as steel. "And where do you suggest we look? We have no starting point."

"I don't know, but we can't just sit here and roll our thumbs. He could be hurt or-" he cut himself off. He had been worried why his teammate hadn't made it back yet, but somehow his mind had refused to think the unthinkable.

"Dead," Natasha quickly finished for him without a hint of remorse for saying it out loud. Her face was completely closed and blank. She didn't show anything for Steve to guess what she was truly thinking. "If he is, then there's nothing we can do for him. If he isn't, then this is the first place he would turn to."

"And if he's indisposed? Should we just leave him then?"

"And if we go out to look for him? He comes back to find this place completely empty and what good would that do? We would still be in the same situation that we are in now, only in different locations."

"One of us stays here in case he comes back."

"Splitting up more than we already are is the worst idea."

"We can't just do nothing!" Steve didn't even notice he raised his voice. What Natasha was suggesting was ludicrous. She was asking him to leave a man behind and that was one thing he refused to do. If this is what it meant being a part of SHIELD then he was absolutely certain it was not a road he would willingly take. But he could also see the sense in her words and knew they came from her own experience from a life, she had more knowledge in than he had. But he refused to sit down and wait. Not when there was something he could do. "I'm refusing to leave a man behind!"

"I'm not asking you to!" Romanoff's voice reached the same noise level his did and immediately the fight left Steve. In her voice he saw the tiny tear in her emotional armor and he knew she was just as afraid for her partner as he was. Perhaps even more.

He held out his arms despairingly. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

She never got a chance to answer. Just as the question had left his lips, a loud boom echoed from the skies outside. The sound culminated with that of glass breaking as a black figure came hurtling through the window. Glass exploded inward and rained down on the floor in different sizes as the figure rolled around several times in the crushed shards before coming to a dead stop in the middle of the room.

It was Barton.

**TBC**


	2. They Are Laid Out One by One

**Title: **Of the Bonds Forged in Fire

**Summary: **Steve Rogers followed Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission. But it turns out to be anything but, as the three Avengers are plunged into a fight for their lives and Steve will know what it truly means to be a SHIELD agent and partners. Set after 'Avengers' but before 'Winter Soldier'

**Chapter title:** They Are Laid Out One by One

**Author's Note: **I totally forget to mention earlier that the chapter titles for from Bastille's "Flaws". Go ahead and give it a listen if you haven't already (the acoustic version, though!) It's mesmerizing.

Also, I wish to extend a very warm thank you to all to took the time to review, favorite or alert. It means a lot :-)

So without further ado, here's chapter 2. Enjoy and remember to leave a review in the end to let me know whether it was bad or good for you!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything. This is written purely for entertainment purposes and any character you might recognize are not mine.

* * *

Natasha had almost been insulted when she had first looked into the manila folder. The target was of high threat level, though that was nothing new. It wasn't what had bugged her. It had been the fact that three operatives had been dispatched for the mission.

Andrej Novotny was an arms dealer who had slowly built up a small empire in Slovakia. He had been on SHIELD's watch list for some time now. Nothing much had done as he had not been a priority on the kill list as he had not real power, just a few hands on the weapons market with a distant Russian cousin who had made the connection with the Russian Mafia, though even he was a small fish in their much larger business. He existed only on the list to make sure he didn't do anything monumentally stupid to gain more power, just like many other dealers. Since the technology had been advancing for some time now and larger and more dangerous weapons come into play, especially when some of it wasn't even from earth, SHIELD had taken a larger interest in arms dealing to make sure the weapons didn't end up in the wrong hands.

Unfortunately, the inevitable happened and Novotny was an excellent example of what happened when the underworld got a hold of weapons they had no hope or wish to control. In this case, he got a hold of a Chitauri weapon from New York and now left a trail of blood and dead bodies in his wake as he aimed to expand his weapon empire. He had become a threat and needed to be neutralized. And as fate would have it, he turned out to be notoriously good at avoiding officials and SHIELD agents alike. Director Fury had been pissed and decided to put an end to it now before more people got hurt, so he sent his best team.

But even two people would be slight overkill, which was why Natasha was even more baffled when Fury decided to send three people instead of two. Steve Rogers would accompany Strike Team Delta. Neither Clint nor Natasha was the definition of team players, which was one of the reasons why they worked so well together, and both had demanded why on earth Captain Rogers would join them. Fury had only given them a brief explanation that Rogers needed to go back into the world and learn what a different one it had turned into. He needed to learn and even though he was rusty, he was still one of the best and therefore should only learn from the best. They hadn't gotten much else out of Fury than that, other than a promise that it was a rare occurrence followed by a directive to the door if they had any more problems with it.

Natasha had seen the reason in the Director's words but had still been annoyed. It was supposed to be simple after all. Scout out Andrej Novotny and his associates, learn connections and routines and then take him out silently and in the shadows. How it all got turned around so quickly, she had no idea. All she knew was that her annoyance melted away like ice in the hot sun the second she saw Clint on the rotting floor of the small apartment.

The wind came blowing in through the now broken window and carried with it a high-pitched howling and the rain that quickly got to work with soaking the wooden boards.

Clint hadn't moved from where he had stopped rolling. Both Natasha and Steve could only stare in shock at what they had just witnessed. A second passed and then they both sprang into action towards their fallen comrade.

Natasha reached him first. She crashed to her knees by his side, ignoring the sharp glass shards cutting into her knees. Clint's eyes were sealed shut and his hair was wet and plastered to his forehead. The rest of his black clothes that wasn't torn were soaked through, the black fabric shining. He was covered in scratches and bruises all over and remnants of dried blood clung to the entire right half of his face from two gashes on his cheekbone and eyebrow. His breathing was hitching and strained and a rattling noise followed every time he drew in a breath. His chest moved p and down rapidly and his face was flushed as if he had been running for a good while in the cold. Judging by the look of him, he probably had.

Steve dropped down on the other side of Clint, careful not to step on his partly out-stretched arm that was still clutching his bow. His eyes took in the state of the archer and felt anger mix in with the fear. Whoever did this would pay for what they had done. His gaze fell on Barton's chest and he frowned as he caught sight of a stain that didn't just come from being out in the rain. This had a redder tint. Carefully, he unzipped the archer's vest and lifted up the undershirt underneath. He sucked in a breath. Just under the ribcage was an ugly-looking large gash, the skin torn and ripped at the edges and fresh blood still leaked out from the hole.

Natasha had watched him and now her eyes stared at the hole and silently she cursed herself for not taking a full inventory of his injuries. Steve quickly took off his jacket, leaving him shivering in just a thin shirt. He paid no attention to the cold. He focused entirely on his teammate, lying unmoving in front of him, bleeding and broken. He folded up the jacket and pressed it onto the angry wound.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Clint's eyelids shot up to reveal red-rimmed, incoherent and panicked grey orbs. He gasped out in pain as if waking up by being splashed with ice-cold water. His hands grasped out around him and tried to move Steve's hands, squeezing down on his abdomen. Natasha quickly grabbed a hold of them, noting that the knuckles were split and bruised, and held on tight to anchor him.

"Clint!" she called and her firm voice made his roaming eyes snap to focus on her face. As their eyes locked a spark of lucidity flashed in his gaze and his flailing arms dropped tiredly to the floor.

"Natasha …" he rasped weakly. Already his energy seemed to be waning and his eyelids were beginning to close.

"Hey, Barton!" Natasha gently slapped his cheek, though the slow response was less than what she had hoped for. He only jerked his head slightly and his eyes stayed half-lidded. "Stay awake. Tell me what happened? Barton!"

He barely seemed to hear her as his head rolled from side to side. His eyes were beginning to close again. Just before they closed completely and his head rolled limply to the side, he uttered a single word, his voice raw and low.

"Trap …"

* * *

Natasha and Steve shared a single look. Then the assassin turned her focus back to her partner, but he had fallen unconscious again. And other than a few groans and slight movement of his head, he didn't respond to her coaxing and his name, no matter how loud she demanded it.

She let out a string of Russian words Steve did not understand but if he had to guess they were far from friendly. "Keep the pressure," she quickly instructed, though the super soldier had no intention of easing the folded jacket away from Barton's wound. It had already been soaked through with blood. Natasha moved to the shattered window, the glass cracking under her weight, and carefully peaked out from behind the blowing curtain that had come undone from their bindings on the wall when Clint had burst through.

She squinted her eyes against the raindrops and the all-consuming darkness that lay upon the city. On the rooftop opposite them, she could discern slight figures moving around in the shadows, growing slowly nearer.

_Trap_.

Clint's word suddenly made even more terrifying sense. She only assumed he had meant he was ambushed. But instead, he had tried to warn her and Steve.

"We've been compromised, Cap. We need to move." Quickly, she turned away from the window and made a beeline for her weapons on the coffee table. The captain looked up from where he was crouched next to Barton.

"What? We need to get him to a hospital," he argued.

Settling her two guns in her holsters, Natasha made sure she still had her knives hidden in her clothes and grabbed Clint's discarded bow from the floor. She knew he rarely parted with his signature weapon of choice and he had presumably struggled to not lose it during his fight, so even though he had lost his quiver some time during the night and they couldn't really store the spare arrows anywhere, she took it with her. "Right now, we need to get to safety. A hospital is anything but. There is another SHIELD safe house a few miles from here."

A shadow appeared in the window outline. A man, dressed in tactical gear, was crouching on the floor and aimed a gun at Steve and Clint on the floor. Natasha quickly aimed her own weapon and fired her own bullet before the assailant could get the chance. She threw the bright captain's shield that had been resting against the wall towards the super soldier. "We're moving out, Cap. Grab Clint and make for the stairs. I'll cover you."

Steve didn't need to be told twice. Catching his shield and strapping it to his back, he grabbed a hold of Barton and hauled the archer to his feet. Clint yelped out in pain as Steve draped his arm over his shoulders and with his other arm, he supported Clint's back. The SHIELD agent might have been smaller and lighter than Steve, but he was almost pure deadweight and the super soldier struggled with keeping both of them upright. But they made it just in time.

More men, dressed like the first, were coming in through the windows of the living room. Natasha had both of her guns in her hands now, firing off shot after shot and taking out the ones carrying guns and readying to fire at the trio. Those she didn't manage shoot advanced and tried to grab and hold their limps down. Natasha resorted to hand-to-hand combat instead. She broke the nose of the nearest one first with a quick jab of her elbow, dislocated the shoulder of the next with a downward punch and swiped the feet of the next two. She jumped from one assailant to the next, twisting necks and limps and using them as shields. She threw out punches anywhere she could hit flesh and Steve did his best to help her, kicking out and showing away any that managed to sneak past her impressive reach, but with a limp Hawkeye leaning up against him, his efforts didn't get him far.

But Steve suddenly found himself glad for the small living room as it didn't take them very long to reach the front door. While the Widow was still covering his back, Steve wrestled to open the wooden door. When it was open, he called out Natasha's name and hurried out through it.

Natasha propelled herself away from the mass of attacking bodies in a back flip, took out her guns and shot blindly in every direction to gain confusion. In the short distraction it created, she exited the apartment, slammed her body against to the door and locked it as securely as she could.

"We have a situation," Steve said, still balancing an unconscious Clint. Natasha whirled around and before she could offer a snarky retort, the sound reached her ears as well. Several footsteps pounding on the stairwell, as feet marched up toward their location in the small hall.

They were trapped.

**TBC**


	3. We Pick Ourselves Undone

**Title: **Of the Bonds Forged in Fire

**Summary:** Steve Rogers followed Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission. But it turns out to be anything but, as the three Avengers are plunged into a fight for their lives and Steve will know what it truly means to be a SHIELD agent and partners. Set after 'Avengers' but before 'Winter Soldier'

**Chapter title:** We Pick Ourselves Undone

**Author's Note: **I would like to thank all of you that have shown your support to this story. It means a lot! We continue on! And if you would be so kind as to leave a review in the end it would mean so much! I'd love to know what people are thinking!:-)

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything. This is written purely for entertainment purposes and any character you might recognize are not mine.

* * *

The flash brightened the dimly lit hall for a millisecond as the bullet left the chamber and planted itself deep into the man's chest who fell down from the stair and joined the other who had already fallen from the Black Widow's aim.

She might not have the exact precision of Hawkeye, but most of her targets she sighted fell down as they caught a bullet in the chest, throat or head. Natasha didn't aim to kill, knowing that there would be a chance that she didn't hit. Instead she aimed to take down. They were greatly outnumbered and she needed to create an escape route and the only one that existed at the moment was down those stairs. She lay on her side by the top of the staircase, shooting anything that moved into her line of sight.

Steve was by the apartment door, holding onto the knob so the other attackers on the other side couldn't enter the hall. He had gently placed Clint next to him, leaned up against the wall with his head hanging down.

"So you have any ideas?" Steve shouted over the gunfire.

"Can you clear the stairs?" Natasha shouted back, while she fired her last bullet from the magazine. She rolled away from her now vulnerable position and worked quickly to change it with a new one.

Steve eyed Barton then his eyes drifted to his shield, still securely strapped on his back, and finally they ended up resting on Romanoff. Her flaming red hair stuck to her face with sweat and bruises had already started to form where somebody had gotten a few lucky hits in.

"Can you carry Barton? We need to move quickly."

She nodded firmly and crouched down to grab the archer. He moaned as he was wrestled into a new position that jostled his injuries. As the Widow draped one of his arms across her shoulder and moved to lift him off the ground, he mumbled something so quiet, Steve almost missed what he said. But he didn't and his eyes softened at Clint's words. "Leave me."

"Forget about it, Barton. Quit being sacrificial and start helping me instead," Romanoff's voice hardly left any room for argument. Their eyes met briefly, steel gray meeting determined green.

"Ready?" Steve asked, clearing his throat. He felt slightly awkward interrupting what was clearly an unspoken conversation between the two of assassins that he couldn't understand.

"Lead the way, Captain," the Widow said and quickly adjusted and tightened her grip on the archer slumped against her.

"Stay low," Steve advised. He spent only a millisecond preparing himself for the oncoming battle before he threw himself into the fire.

His shield he placed in front of his torso and his head bent so it would be protected from the firing they would likely encounter. The old wooden stairs creaked under his weight as he placed his foot on the first step and he was kind of glad they didn't have to sneak off, because the stairs hardly offered any stealth with their constant creaking and moaning as the trio made their way down the staircase. Bullets ricocheted easily off of the bright red, white and blue shield with small pangs but Steve still felt each of their impacts on the vibranium that sent tiny shivers up his arm. He found himself glad that the attackers only aimed after the dangerous spots like his chest and head, which were protected by the shield, instead of going after their unprotected legs.

Their pace had quickened from the time they had first stepped onto the stairs, as the rain of bullets had increased the closer they came to the wide hall that the apartment buildings rested on top of. By the time they had reached the bottom and the final few steps, their way of escape became apparent. The hall was wide and bare. The exit door was on the other side of the room where the staircase and between them and freedom stood several of the black-clad assailants, ready to take them down.

They had to fight their way out.

* * *

That much quickly became clear and as soon as the thought struck Steve, he knew Natasha had already gotten it. They spared a short moment where their eyes met and a short understanding passed between them. They both had to fight to get out of here, meaning Clint had to be left unprotected by the wall. Then they plunged themselves into the fight.

Hoping to take them by surprise, Steve started out throwing his shield. It ricocheted against one of the walls where it flew through the air with incredible speed, knocking out three of assailants unlucky enough to be standing in its way. It banged against another wall, took out two more, before Steve caught it securely again. It did what he had intended. It shocked the remainder of the attackers enough to offer both he and Romanoff the respite they needed to move from the stairs and to the nearest black-clad man. Steve punched the first unfortunate soul straight in the face, sending him sprawling across the floor and into one of his comrades. He proceeded on to the next one and delivered a sharp right hook after easily evading one of his opponent's punches. He easily got into the routine of fighting again.

The world had changed in many ways, ways he did not entirely understand, but there was one thing that hadn't changed. And that was the simple fist fight. Even if he could never understand or insert himself in this crazy world of technology and madness, he would always know how to throw a punch and protect himself in a fight. He ducked and evaded most of the punches he could, he used his fists, legs and even his shield to deliver sharp uppercuts, hard punches and fierce kicks that sent his opponents flying across the air as he didn't held back on his strength.

Next to him Natasha was fighting too. But unlike Steve, she moved completely gracefully and seemed to flow from one opponent to the next. She had hardly knocked out one before she moved on to the next, gliding from snapping one man's neck to propelling herself on top of another and sending him sprawling to the ground as she landed. All of the fighting techniques she had learned over the years of her training, she put to full use. Like a cat she pounced on any that got within her grasp. Perhaps she needed more punches and kicks to take down one man than Steve did, but she did it so quickly and fluently to be just as efficient.

But no matter how good and trained the two of them were, they were still greatly outnumbered. Sweat clung to both of their backs and shined on their foreheads. Bruises had already started to form underneath the blood from small cuts and heavy hits. Steve knew the longer they fought, the more likely they were to make a mistake.

And moments later, he did. And it was a stupid, rookie one at that. A gun was fired in the hall and the bullet sailed through the air to race through Steve's arm and embed itself in the wall behind him. The momentary burn of the bullet slicing through his flesh caught him off guard and caused him to misjudge the distance to one of the assailants. He threw his shield a moment too late. The man easily evaded it and a moment later he was on Steve. The Captain himself had been slightly perplexed that he had been distracted by a simple flesh wound and so hastily thrown away his shield and his tiny moment of surprise cost him dearly. He was hardly ready when the man jumped him mercilessly and a sharp punch to his now bleeding and throbbing arm left him winded and open to the kick to his head that sent him flying to the floor where his skull connected hard with the floor. He shook his head to clear it of the stars that were flying in front of his vision just in time to see the man raising a gun to his head.

Time seemed to slow down as he gazed down the barrel of the gun, yet there was no time to move out of the way. Vaguely he heard Natasha call out his name, knowing she would never get there in time. He recalled their conversation from earlier, when they had still been waiting for Barton to arrive. And Steve saw the truth in Natasha's words. He had made a slip-up, it was a tiny misstep, and it would end up costing him dearly. And he wouldn't live to regret it. He only wished his end didn't come from a petty, hired criminal who had gotten the lucky shot.

Still, he accepted the inevitable.

The trigger was pulled and the shot seemed to echo in the hall.

**TBC**


	4. You Have Always Worn Your Flaws Upon You

**Title: **Of the Bonds Forged in Fire

**Summary: **Steve Rogers followed Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission. But it turns out to be anything but, as the three Avengers are plunged into a fight for their lives and Steve will know what it truly means to be a SHIELD agent and partners. Set after 'Avengers' but before 'Winter Soldier'

**Chapter title:** You Have Always Worn Your Flaws Upon Your Sleeve

**Author's Note: **Moving on to chapter four.

Enjoy! :-)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything. This is written purely for entertainment purposes and any character you might recognize are not mine.

* * *

Steve didn't know what he expected. He didn't know whether he expected pain or just the feel of blackness enveloping him as his life faded. He guessed it would depend whether or not the man hovering above him hit his mark correctly.

When the shot went off, and Steve still found himself staring up at the man, he suspected the man just hadn't hit him in the head and instead decided that he should suffer first. But there was no pain to accompany that thought. He felt only his throbbing arm and his tiring body. Mystified, Steve looked down on himself quickly to asses and true enough there were no gaping hole in his body. There was however in his assailant. When Steve again looked up he saw the slow trickle of blood that ran down his torso and the red stain that spread across his dark clothes. He remained upright only a blink more and then he crumpled to a boneless heap on the floor.

As he fell away, the shooter became clear.

Clint.

The archer stood in an awkward upright position, barely able to hold himself up. His whole body was shaking terribly with the strain, but the hand holding the weapon - which he had presumably snatched from one of the bodies lying around - was completely steady. Their eyes locked for a moment and Steve saw in the grey eyes meeting his, the first sign of clarity since the archer had crashed through the window.

Then Clint started swaying dangerously on his feet and his eyes lost their focus. The captain wasted not a single breath rising to his feet and running toward the assassin. He caught him just as his knees buckled underneath him and he sacked against the super soldier, who gently began to lower him to the ground. The gun fell from his weak fingers and clattered to the ground.

"It's okay, I got you, soldier," Steve soothed while he adjusted Barton in his arms. The archer was groaning with the clear effort the action must have taken and with the renewed pain he felt, but to Steve's relief he still looked clear.

A raw scream brought Steve's attention up to Natasha a little while away, who had her foot firmly pressed down on the obviously broken arm of one of the attackers with a gun aimed squarely at his head. The scream of pain had been his. All around, black-clad men lay on the ground, dead or unconscious. The only one still awake now, was the one under the foot of the Black Widow. The Russian assassin looked at him with a gaze so hard and full of murder, he squirmed uncomfortably under her scrutiny and not from the pain of his arm.

"Who send you?" she calmly demanded.

The man remained silent and tried to look anywhere but her piercing green gaze. The Widow was not pleased with the reaction and with the same stoic face she shifted her weight to the left. The man screamed as his broken arm was manhandled even more.

"Who send you? Novotny?" she asked again. At the mention of Andrej Novotny's name, the man managed to look up with tearful eyes.

It was all the answer she needed. In a swift movement she reached down and whipped him with the butt of the pistol and his head swung to the side from the force and stayed there. He stopped moving.

"I thought you were going to shoot him," Steve said in a half-hearted attempt to clear the air of the feel of death and exhaustion.

"Some years ago, I might have," she simply offered. Her attention had landed on Clint and seeing he was half-awake, she moved to his side and grasped a hold of his hand. He held on tight to it, like it was his only anchor.

"Can you make sure the street is clear? We need to move."

Steve only realized it a few seconds later that she was speaking to him. Her eyes never left Clint's. He nodded his affirmative and went carefully to the exit door, leaving the two assassins by themselves.

Natasha watched him head to the exit and peering out cautiously, and then turned her attention back to the archer in her arms. "Can you stand?"

"Nat, you have to leave me here," Clint answered instead in his raw voice. He was breathing heavily and his complexion had gone a whole new shade of grey. But his gaze was lucid and begging. "You aren't going to make it with me dragging both of you down."

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop sacrificing yourself just because things get a little tight?"

"Until you start listening to reason."

"Get over it, Barton. We haven't walked through hell together, just so I could leave you at the doorstep."

"But this isn't just the two of us anymore."

"Rogers can handle his own. We've seen that several times already," Natasha argued. She would personally drag him out of this compromised hell house and if she had to knock him out to do it, she would gladly swing the punch. And he knew that. He should know that.

"I screwed up, Nat," Clint whispered, his voice cracking. "I knew something was wrong, but I didn't act on it before it was too late. I placed both of you in danger …"

His breathing turned more troubled and his chest began to move in a quicker pace. His eyes grew big and pained and they rolled around in his head, not truly seeing or comprehending that was going on around him. The lucidity he had been displaying moments before had vanished.

He was getting worse.

Steve stood by the open door, with a gun in his hand and his shield re-strapped onto his back. He hadn't been eavesdropping on purpose, but after making sure the coast was clear he had unintentionally overheard the two SHIELD agents' conversation. He didn't want to interrupt until he heard their talking stop and Clint's ragged breathing replacing it.

"It's all clear," he gently said.

"Good. Let's get moving." The careful, stoic mask of the Black Widow was put back into place in Natasha's face. Any sign of the clear emotion he had just seen displayed there had evaporated. "Can you carry him?"

Steve nodded and bent down next to the archer, who was barely responding to his surroundings anymore. As carefully and gently as he could, he picked the shorter man up in a fireman's carry and followed Romanoff out of the door and into the streets.

* * *

The harsh weather had slowed down considerably during their fight and was now a slight drizzle of dusty rain that fell lightly onto the three bodies moving silently through the shadows of the Slovakian city streets. They were careful not to step into any street lights that illuminated the worn and cracked pavement in case any curious eyes were watching.

It wasn't just the attention of Andrej Novotny they were trying to avoid. It included every citizen, who might see the two battered, bruised and bleeding people, carrying on a third, who looked even worse for wear. They were on the run from an avenging gangster; they didn't need to avoid the local authorities too.

Natasha claimed the safe house was a good hour away from the apartment, but they had to take several side cuts and an altogether different route to throw any followers off their scent. Steve was tired and his whole body ached. The cuts and bruises that he hadn't noticed he had gotten were beginning to sting and make themselves painfully known. It didn't help that the gunshot wound in his arm was being jostled and the blood there had dried to a itchy mass stuck between his skin and his clothes. He had caught himself wondering several times how the Russian assassin in front of him managed to keep up such a high tempo when she was sporting just as many injuries as he was. His own legs were shaking slightly from both fatigue and the extra weight he was carrying.

Barton had been dishearteningly limp. In fact, he had barely moved a muscle except unconsciously tensing up when Steve's shoulder dug into a particular sore spot on his broken body. The super soldier had felt the slow trickle of fluid run down his back and knew it wasn't just his sweat. It glistened on his forehead and on his back, making his shirt stick to his skin, but the steady trickle that had started some ten minutes ago wasn't sweat. It was blood. And it wasn't his blood. He knew they ran on borrowed time now. Clint had lost a lot of blood and they had wasted some time fighting their way out. Time Clint now didn't seem to have. Adrenalin still running through his system and a deep fear for Barton's life fueled his burning legs and kept him upright while they sneaked through the slumbering and quiet city. Steve suspected that was also the only thing that was keeping Natasha focused and un-stumbling as she led the way.

Steve felt they had walked for a whole day, although his inner clock told him it was just two hours, when they finally reached a low house in the outskirts of the small city, the light red of the rising morning sun beginning in the distance. From the outside it looked like a completely ordinary, ramshackle house. The painting on the cement wall was half worn away and the roof looked like it had its best day back in 1945. But Natasha moved towards it with a determination and something resembling relief on her face so Steve followed without question.

He watched in fascination as she touched a spot next to the door and a small screen appeared on which she clicked in several numbers and letters then placed her palm against the screen. It glowed blue and illuminated her face in the dark for a second before a small beep echoed in the silence. She opened the wooden door and gestured for Steve to enter and the soldier followed only with a slight hesitation.

Inside the house was a completely different story. The walls looked shinier and reinforced with steel, the windows were of thick bulletproof glass and when Natasha closed the door, another steel one slid out from the wall and clicked into place with a whoosh and the clicking of several locks.

He stood in a large room with a sofa with an ugly matching table in one end and a sturdy dinner table close to a large kitchen in the other. In the wall between them was set two doors. Presumably, one leading to a bedroom and one leading to a bathroom.

Steve didn't have time to marvel though. The pressure on his shoulders told of his precious load and Natasha basically threw the gun to the floor and gestured towards the dinner table while she headed directly to the kitchen counter. "Put him on the table."

He carefully did as instructed and gently put the limp archer down on the table. Clint didn't make a sound or moved a muscle at being wrestled ungracefully onto the hard table. His skin was practically grey and clammy and his closed eyes were ringed in shadow. Sweat mattered his hair and made it cling to his forehead. He was smeared in blood and grime; from the wound in his abdomen and from the several cuts that lined the rest of his body. Bruises had started to turn a sickening yellow and purple on his face, his complexion only enhancing their color.

He looked dead.

And a second later Steve frighteningly figured out the main reason.

"He's not breathing!"

**TBC**


	5. I Have Always Buried Them Deep Beneath t

**Title: **Of the Bonds Forged in Fire

**Summary: **Steve Rogers followed Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission. But it turns out to be anything but, as the three Avengers are plunged into a fight for their lives and Steve will know what it truly means to be a SHIELD agent and partners. Set after 'Avengers' but before 'Winter Soldier'

**Chapter title:** I Have Always Buried Them Deep Beneath the Ground

**Author's Note: **As always a big thank you to all who have showed their continued support for this story. I love it! We are on to chapter 5 and before we move any further let me just point out that I am no medical professional and therefore have no knowledge whether or not the medical procedure in this chapter is correct. I used my imagination and a little bit of Google. I hope everyone is okay with that. Other than that ... Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything. This is written purely for entertainment purposes and any character you might recognize are not mine.

* * *

Natasha didn't waste one breath after Steve's outburst. She was by the archer's side within a second.

She threw the large first aid kit she had practically torn out of the cabinets onto the floor next to the table, spilling some of the contents, and placed two fingers on his throat. For two heartbeats everything was still and Steve barely dared to breathe. Then Natasha let out an almost inaudible sigh relief.

"He still has a pulse."

She picked up an oxygen mask and gently lifted Clint's head to secure it around his mouth and nose. Though there was oxygen flowing through the tubes, it did not fog. Steve could only watch in sick fascination as the assassin roamed through the bag of medical supplies expertly and found a large syringe filled with clear liquid. She quickly uncapped it and then without hesitation she plunged the large needle directly into Clint's chest.

"What are you doing?" Steve said, looking horrified as she pushed down and injected the liquid into Barton's limp body.

"Adrenaline." Natasha's voice seemed steady as could be but the super soldier could detect the faint shudder of fear that tinted it. Try as she might, she couldn't hide that. She was scared.

The reaction was the same as before when Steve had first applied pressure to the wound: instantaneous. The whole upper half of Clint's body shot up from the table as he rose, gasping and coughing. The oxygen mask fogged up as he drew out a strained breath, only to disappear when he drew it in again. His eyelids tore open and frantic grey eyes rolled around in his head. Then it seemed like the pain hit him and he unconsciously tried to roll into himself to rid his body of the horrifying agony. Steve instantly stepped in and grabbed a hold of the archer's shoulders and pressed him flat onto the table while he did his best to ignore Barton's painful groans that almost urged him to let go. But he didn't. He held on fast as Natasha got to work with steady, nimble hands.

Natasha cut open Clint's shirt to reveal his bleeding abdomen, still seeping blood and painting his entire chest a bright red. The gash looked even angrier than it had before, having been torn and moved in ways it shouldn't during their escape and the edges of the skin looked ragged. It did not look good and when Romanoff let out a string of Russian words, Steve's suspicion was only confirmed. The wound was severe and if Clint didn't receive proper medical help, he would surely die.

"I have to stitch it shut and cauterize the wound. Otherwise he's not going to make it."

Steve only nodded. It was the only solution he had arrived at too. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"We can't sedate him. It will hurt." Her eyes met his from across the table. "You have to hold him down while I do it."

Steve swallowed a single time and then simply dipped his head once. Bracing himself mentally for what was about to come, he placed his large hands upon Clint's bare arms and upper chest and held down tight. He watched as Natasha quickly prepared a needle and thread. She placed it on the table next to Clint's body before she washed her small knife and held into the gentle flame of a lighter. She waited until the blade was shining a bright red from the heat before she clicked the lighter shut. Apprehension was clear in her green eyes and they met Steve's briefly from across the table. Steve nodded his readiness.

Then Natasha placed the blazing blade in Barton's wound. The first thing Steve was aware of was the pained scream had erupted from Clint's throat and he found himself hoping the walls were soundproof. It was dry and high-pitched but lasted very briefly as the archer instantly cut himself off and gritted his teeth as if he realized that he was screaming. The super soldier was astonished by the agent's pain tolerance; that he was able to simply cut himself off from freeing the unbearable pain he must be feeling. But he couldn't stop it from showing completely. His whole body was tense as a wire and his eyes were screwed tightly shut.

The second thing he noticed was the terrible smell that started to spread. The odor of burning flesh and boiling blood filled his nostrils and Steve had to remind himself to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose. It was accompanied by the light almost see-through fog that rose from the wound. Had he had a more sensitive stomach, Steve doubted he would have been able to keep his lunch from reappearing.

The former Russian spy barely seemed to take notice of it all as she heated the knife again. Steve suspected it was because she had done it several times before, which was an unnerving thought. It only took a few more seconds to heat it up again and then she mercilessly plunged the knife down again. Though this time he only grunted and groaned as he didn't have that much energy anymore to scream, Clint's body tried to twist and turn against the pain. As it did, Steve adjusted his body to hold down the struggling archer and he caught sight of a ragged scar in the middle of Clint's chest. It was covered in all the blood but he could still see that it was pale with rugged edges even though it came from a long time ago. The wound must have been horrendous for the scar to be that severe.

But Steve didn't have time to dwell on it as Natasha sternly called out.

"Hold him down!"

Steve shook his head and focused on the problem before him.

* * *

An hour later Natasha was leaning over the kitchen sink, scrubbing her hands roughly in the hot water running from the tab.

Steve stood leaned up against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, waiting for his turn. He stared straight ahead of him, eyeing the archer that was still lying motionless on top of the table. He had lost consciousness by the time Natasha starting stitching the wound and hadn't come back around since. Steve's mind raced back to the scar he had seen and now seemed like a good time as any.

"Natasha?" he cautiously asked. "Where did Clint get the scar?"

Romanoff's hands stopped scrubbing against each other as she froze and her body tensed up. For a moment she just stood there, letting the water run over her unmoving hands. Then her shoulders relaxed again and she continued to grind her fingers together and the blood mixed in with the clear water, tinting it pink. She stared at it intensely. After awhile she answered.

"Any one particular in mind, Rogers? We both have our fair share in that department."

"You know which one I mean. The one on his chest."

Natasha made a show out of examining her fingernails. She didn't answer.

"Natasha?" Steve pressed on.

She sighed heavily and reached for a handkerchief to wipe her hands. "I can't tell you that."

"So you know how he got it?"

"Yes."

"But you won't tell me?" He guessed.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's not my story to tell." This time she looked him firmly in the eyes and then she threw the handkerchief onto the counter and walked away from the sink. "It's all yours, Rogers."

* * *

The first thing Clint became aware of was the presence close to him.

He knew the person sitting next to him was very close, but his body didn't tense with anticipation. His body was finely attuned to the presence and knew it was no threat, not to him anyway. He easily recognized the light scent of sweat and blood, strangely sweet to his nose, and the calming sensation that seemed to imitate from her.

He knew Natasha was next to him, no doubt keeping a watchful eye to make sure he didn't do anything stupid.

He felt the uncomfortable hardness underneath his back and his head next and the strange numbness that had spread across his entire body. His side throbbed with a dull ache that he barely even noticed. He mostly just felt heavy, like he had overworked himself again and now his body refused to move until it got the rest it needed.

He was almost lulled back into the darkness from where he came and give into his body's loud demands, but a voice in the back of his head told him that there were far more important things to attend to than his own selfish desires.

Flashes of memories came across his mind. He remembered the coldness of the raindrops that mercilessly showered him and the roof he was perched on top off. He remembered the suspicion that crept up his spine when something just didn't seem right, like they knew he was watching even though he could never have been spotted. He remembered the warning his body screamed at him just before a fist swung for his face. He remembered running and fighting for his life. And the sudden pain a knife he hadn't noticed coming for him caused. Most of all he remembered the urgency he felt, the extremely strong need to get back to the safe house to warn Natasha and Rogers, before they were caught unaware.

So with an effort so great it surprised him, he pried open his eyes. They were met with a blurry grey. He blinked them a couple of times to clear away the mist clouding his vision and when they adjusted, he realized he was staring up on a steel ceiling. He had watched that earlier, when his mind had barely been lucid and there was only pain to focus on.

He turned his head to the left, towards what he already knew was there. He ended up staring directly into Natasha's piercing green orbs, filled with relief and a gentleness she only had reserved for a special few. She looked exhausted and her face was bloody and bruised.

"Hey," Clint croaked and cleared his throat at the roughness. He despised how weak it sounded. It portrayed exactly how he felt and probably also what he looked like. He hated that too.

"Welcome back," she simply greeted him. Her voice was nonchalant, but her gentle fingers curled tightly around his wrist showed her true feelings. She was definitely relieved. He must have brushed closer to death than he realized for him to scare her that much. She undoubtedly read his thoughts in his face as her next words answered his questions.

"You were bleeding pretty badly by the time we got you here. I had to cauterize the wound and stitch it shut. I gave you the last painkillers left in the first aid kit a few hours ago. I know you hate how they muddle your brain …" Her expression turned grim then, as did her tone. "Clint, I had to. This isn't going to hold. You need proper medical attention. More than I can give."

Clint could only nod. He didn't blame her for doing it, even though he would have preferred to have a clear mind. And a fresh one. He could already feel the fatigue burning in the back of his eyes.

"Where's Rogers?" he asked. He hadn't spotted the super soldier anywhere in the room.

"Calling in the cavalry. We need to get out of here. Novotny's men could be anywhere. We're not safe in the city," Natasha quickly explained.

Her words triggered something inside of the archer's head. There was a reason he simply hadn't gone back to sleeping yet. There was something burning; something that needed to be told. It was important and it couldn't wait. But his eyelids were already growing heavy and were beginning to drop slowly. He couldn't stop it from happening, his body responding to its needs without his brain's consent.

Natasha seemed to notice his losing battle against exhaustion and the fingers still on his wrist squeezed once and she gave him a small smile. "It's okay, Clint. You can go to sleep. We'll be right here."

But he shook his head with as much energy as he could muster. "No …" he whispered. Even his voice seemed to fail him. He had to tell her. She sensed his distress.

"What is it?"

"Set up …"

"We already know it was a set up. You told us in the apartment."

Clint did his best to huff annoyingly at her but it only came out as a pathetic groan. She didn't know and she needed to. "We were … set up from the beginning," he muttered slowly, his words jumbling together. "Someone … sold us out."

"Who?" Natasha's face blurred together through the slits of his closing eyes. He took a deep breath, hoping it would provide enough air to speak the next and most important words. His eyelids he could not hold open for any longer and they closed completely on their own account. Sleep pulled him under and he would no longer resist it.

Just before he was pulled under by darkness created by painkillers and fatigue, he muttered a few more last words:

"SHIELD … traitor …"

**TBC**


	6. Your Flaws and My Flaws They Lie There H

**Title: **Of the Bonds Forged in Fire

**Summary: **Steve Rogers followed Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission. But it turns out to be anything but, as the three Avengers are plunged into a fight for their lives and Steve will know what it truly means to be a SHIELD agent and partners. Set after 'Avengers' but before 'Winter Soldier'

**Chapter title:** Your Flaws and My Flaws They Lie There Hand in Hand

**Author's Note: **This is the beginning of the end my friends! We are almost at road's end by now with only one more chapter to go. As always I would like to thank all those who have showed their support of the last chapter! Enjoy this one! :-)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything. This is written purely for entertainment purposes and any character you might recognize are not mine.

* * *

The cargo hold of the SHIELD jet was filled with a tense silence and the only sound that could be heard was the low rumbling of the plane engines as they soared through the sky.

Steve was eyeing every single agent that the jet held with suspicion and dread and just waiting for one of them to make a move. Natasha had filled him in on Clint's words; that there was a mole of Novotny's inside of SHIELD. And Steve had been frightened because he had already radioed in for help on one of the satellite radios from the kitchen cabinet and he wondered if he had just given away their position to the enemy.

Out here in the outskirts of town, they had nowhere to run or hide. Natasha seemed to have the same thought, as she had packed all of their bags, along with as much medical supplies that could fit, and stuffed them under the table Barton was still lying on top of. All of their weapons had been collected to be within arm's reach in case they needed it. And they had anxiously waited.

But no hostiles came knocking on their door.

Instead there was only the sound of the SHIELD jet discreetly landing on the flat terrain outside and soon they were escorted towards the plane, on their way back to SHIELD base in Washington. Clint had been carefully placed on a stretcher, wrapped in a thick orange blanket and secured on the plane deck and Natasha hadn't left his side for a second.

Steve suspected she wouldn't normally be this clingy, especially since it looked like he would actually make it now, but if there was a traitor in SHIELD and if that person would be on board this plane, the Russian spy didn't want to take any chances. She sat next to the stretcher now by Clint's head and stared off into space. Even though she gave off the vibe of a tired spy heading home, Steve knew her whole body was tense and though her eyes weren't visibly following every movement, she knew exactly where every single person was.

But Captain America himself let his eyes wander across the cabin and the small crew of two pilots and a paramedic and openly wore his concern of the situation. For all the agents knew, he had just been through 24 hours of extreme pressure and was still a little jumpy about the whole thing. But he still felt the pressure and doubted it would go away any time soon.

But the flight occurred without incident. Hours later they landed on the SHIELD tarmac and Clint was rolled away towards the infirmary, the archer completely oblivious to what was occurring around him. Natasha followed behind, sure to follow wherever they took him, and Steve found himself uselessly standing on the tarmac, clutching his bag awkwardly. He wasn't quite sure where he should go. He wanted to know how Clint was doing, he wanted to go to his apartment to change and shower and most important, sleep. But he also didn't want to leave without telling Fury about the traitor, to find the mole and neutralize him before he did any more damage. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to relax properly before that happened. While he stood there alone, musing his options, Natasha stopped ahead and spun on her heel to face him.

At his questioning stare, she smirked at him and twitched her red head towards the double doors Clint had disappeared through. It was a gesture to follow.

He gladly did.

* * *

Natasha had disappeared on him hours later. They sat together in the medical wing, silent and waiting. No matter how hard Steve tried, he couldn't get a single word out of the assassin sitting stiffly next to him and after a few failed attempts he had given up completely.

He denied any attempts the nurses made to check on his arm. It had stopped bleeding a long time ago and was barely anything more than a small scratch. Captain America healed fast and all of his injuries were just minor ignorable inconveniences by now.

They had been escorted to Barton's room some hours later. The archer would eventually make a full recovery once the knife wound healed. It had been touch and go a few times but the work Natasha had done definitely saved his life. She hardly seemed fazed by that fact. Steve might not have expected her to be jumping about happily or hugging the grey-haired doctor with a thank you flowing over her lips, but he at least expected some kind of reaction out of her, something to show that she was relieved. Instead she had only nodded like she hadn't had her hands deep into Clint's chest and that they hadn't almost lost him out there in that safe house. Like it wasn't anything special.

He found himself wondering if perhaps for those two mysterious assassins it wasn't anymore. And that thought was kind of a frightening prospect.

But the captain did get to see what he suspected what a rare sight of the Russian. Clint was lying on the bed, his head propped by a fluffed pillow, oblivious to the rest of the world. Romanoff had simply walked into the room and grabbed a hold of his limp hand and just held it for a few minutes, her eyes studying his sleeping face. Steve wondered to himself how many times he had to feel like he intruded on a private moment with these two.

Natasha had left shortly after that, with a brief look at into Steve's eyes and the words: "If anyone but me, Fury or a trustworthy-looking doctor tries to get into this room you deny them access, understand?"

Before he could ask what defined a 'trustworthy-looking' doctor, she had fled out the open door, the medical staff, visitors and security parting through the middle for her as she strode down the hall. He had been left, standing awkwardly in the doorway, halfway in and halfway out.

And that's when it dawned upon him. She had left Clint in his care. She had entrusted him with the duty of protecting the archer while she was away. He knew how much that meant and how much trust it needed. And he would gladly show he was worthy of it.

So he fully entered and sat down on the poorly padded chair by Clint's bedside and kept a vigilant eye over the archer.

* * *

Though he knew he shouldn't have, Steve found his mind drifting off as the events of the past few days caught up. He was tired and hadn't slept since the whole ruckus occurred. His body was spent and his head was heavy and filled with all the obscure images he had experienced in Slovakia.

He forced himself to stay awake and not to fall asleep, but he still zoned out completely and let his thoughts wander.

Which was why, when the sound of a manila folder hitting the small portable table over Clint's feet with a mute slap, the captain jumped in his seat and jerked into awareness. He found himself staring at Natasha standing in the middle of the room with her arms crossed and an amused look on her face.

"George Stein."

Steve was still trying to adjust his muddled, tired mind into thinking properly and had no idea what the red-headed assassin was talking about. "What?"

"The little weasel that sold us out," she explained, nodding her head towards the folder. "Novotny transferred 50.000 dollars to an off-shore account belonging to Stein. Presumably to feed him intel about SHIELD's movement on his turf."

"Who is he?" Steve asked and pulled the folder onto his lap to open it.

"A nobody. He works on the command bridge as a technician. That little bastard managed to worm his way through the ranks so that when Novotny finally was on our radar he could warn him before we came. How he managed to hide his tracks up until now, we can only guess. Fury's in interrogation with him now. It won't be long before we know all his dirty little secrets."

Steve listened carefully as she talked while he examined all the contents of the folder, including a SHIELD profile photo of a scruffy-looking, pudgy little man with a pair of clear, round spectacles that had fallen down his nose.

"What's gonna happen to him?" he asked, looking up.

"That traitor will be charged with treason and won't be seeing the sky again." The poison in her words was clear as was the hardness in her eyes.

"Sounds harsh."

"His cooperation with that scum of a drug dealer nearly cost all of us our lives," Natasha said. Her voice had changed to a more nonchalant tone. Her words were riddled with hate, but she said so casually like they were only discussing opinions on a political matter. "This is his punishment."

"Was he in money problems?"

"Presumably. We're checking all of his bank statements right now. But it's not gonna change anything."

"Shouldn't we dig a little into why he did it? What his motives are?" Steve inquired further. Just because the evidence was piling up on _if_ he did it didn't mean _why_ he did it suddenly was thrown out the window.

"Right now, the motive doesn't matter, Rogers."

Steve threw the thin folder down onto the table again with more force than was probably necessary. "I say it does."

"If you want to survive in this business, you gotta stop with wanting to sit down for a chat about life stories. Take action first or you'll end up getting killed."

"Is this another lecture?" Steve felt his anger rising. Did they really see him as such a boy scout? "Just because I don't want to shoot first and ask later, doesn't mean I want to hold hands with every terrorist we get our hands on."

Natasha was about to answer, but before she could utter another word, a rough and low voice interrupted her and both of their eyes were directed to the bed and the person in it, they had completely forgotten was even there.

"Could you guys keep your voice down?"

**TBC**


	7. We'll See That We Need Them to be Who We

**Title: **Of the Bonds Forged in Fire

**Summary: **Steve Rogers followed Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission. But it turns out to be anything but, as the three Avengers are plunged into a fight for their lives and Steve will know what it truly means to be a SHIELD agent and partners. Set after 'Avengers' but before 'Winter Soldier'

**Chapter title:** We'll See That We Need Them to be Who We Are

**Author's Note: **So this is actually the last chapter! I did say in the beginning that this was a small enjoyable little fic. However, I am toying with the idea of a sequel to this that's gonna be darker and a little more complex with some higher stakes, if anyone is interested in that?

Also, did anybody see Age of Ultron yet? Oh MY GOSH! That is all I'm saying for now. Have you seen it? What did you think of it? I am ready to talk if anyone has something to talk about ;-)

Anyways, this is it for now, so I hope you'll enjoy this final chapter and as always please leave a review at the end to tell me what you thought of not only the chapter but the whole story as well

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything. This is written purely for entertainment purposes and any character you might recognize are not mine.

* * *

Every sense of argument left the room and the two tired pair of eyes landed immediately on the figure in the hospital bed.

Clint's grey eyes were eyeing the two agents before him wearily. It was the only part of him that was moving since he didn't seem to have the energy to do anything else. All was quiet in the room and it seemed to drag on for a few long agonizing seconds as none knew what to say. Barton was the first one to break it.

"Don't mind me. Carry on whatever you were yelling about."

Steve couldn't help the small laugh of relief that escaped his mouth. Natasha on the other hand just stared at the archer with a look that the captain couldn't decipher. That was until she stalked over to Clint's bedside and smacked him across the head. It wasn't hard by far but the sound still echoed in the small hospital room.

"Ouch! What was that for?" Clint exclaimed as his hand reached up to rub the sore spot.

"That was for screwing it up and almost killing yourself in the process," she answered coolly. But a smirk was playing at her lips and Steve knew she hardly meant it.

His belief was cemented when she placed a firm hand on the archer's shoulder and squeezed. The motion and the open look on her face was perhaps one of the most expressive signs of tenderness Steve had seen from the assassin and it warmed his heart to know someone had gotten through the high bearings she constantly wore. He suspected it was because Clint had built the exact same wall for himself.

Their small moment ended shortly after when Natasha's phone beeped loudly. She quickly straightened up and read the text. "Looks like it's my turn with Stein."

"You leaving a bit for me when you're done?" Clint asked nonchalantly, though his voice was crisp with the underlying venom. Apparently he had already guessed who it was she was talking about. Or perhaps he had been awake longer than they thought.

"You'll get your chance, hotshot," Natasha padded the shoulder she had been holding mockingly.

On the way out the door, she turned towards Steve. "Watch over that one, will you? Make sure he doesn't try to escape before he's ready." In the doorway looked back at the archer in the bed with a smirk. "And you … be nice."

Then she disappeared, leaving Steve with an arched eyebrow aimed at Barton in a questioning stare. Clint only shrugged his shoulder, wincing when the movement hurt his body.

"I was fine. Those quacks just refused to discharge me," he quickly explained.

"I bet," Steve said, non-believing. He had an inkling feeling that Clint's definition of fine was much different than the medical term.

The soldier leaned back into the chair and eyed the man before him. He saw all the bruises and cuts; all the wires connected to the machines. He saw the bags underneath the archer's eyes and the empty look of fatigue. The question came out of his mouth before he even realized himself and knew the chances of an honest answer were next to none.

"How are you feeling, soldier?"

"Fine. Better than yesterday," Clint simply answered.

Steve could only nod. He didn't know the man well enough to try and coax a more reliable answer out of him and instead just accepted what he got. He knew what he wanted to ask but hesitated because he doubted he would get anything out of it and would only succeed in making the archer slam the door into his life permanently shut in his face. So he didn't, but the need must have been openly written across his face, for Clint squinted slightly at him and sighed deeply before speaking.

"You clearly have something on your mind, Cap. What is it?"

The super soldier debated with himself whether or not he should just shrug it off as nothing but he knew he had been offered a chance and he would be a fool not to take it.

"I saw the scar."

For a brief time Clint looked as if he was lost in the past, but then it was swept away and the cocky, relaxed mask was put back into place. "They are not exactly a rarity on this line of work, Rogers. You of all people should know by now that it's a hazardous line of work."

"The one I'm talking about I don't think that comes from work. Otherwise Natasha would have simply told me," Steve said. He knew it was going to be a struggle but now that he started down the path he wasn't turning around.

"You asked her about it?" Clint said, seemingly impressed to the lengths Steve had gone for an answer. "What did she say?"

"Nothing."

"Why the curiosity?" Clint then asked.

Steve pursed his lips for a second. That was a damn good question. Was there really a reason other than to settle his own curiosity? He settled for the answer he figured Barton wouldn't tear him a new one for. "I guess I simply want to know my teammates. And you guys aren't exactly open."

"There's a reason for that, Cap. We've learned the hard way that personal knowledge is a vulnerability."

"Is that what happened?"

"I trusted the one person what was supposed to have my back," Clint said. He stared intently up at the ceiling. "A huge mistake."

"I'm sorry." It was the only thing he could think of to say. The feeling Clint would have been left with after trusting someone who simply then stabbed him in the back … Steve didn't dare to think if it had happened to him. If Peggy or Bucky had betrayed him … He shuddered at the thought.

"Don't be. It was a long time ago." Clint was quick to reassure and downplay it as a simple misstep in his past and that it was just water under the bridge now. But Steve could clearly hear the underlying pain of a wound that hadn't healed yet and this wasn't something the archer seemed to just forget.

"Were you close?" he asked carefully.

At this Clint turned his head and looked at him with wariness and suspicion. Steve could see his wheels turning in his head and the archer seemed to debate with himself whether or not he should share his burden and his secrets. A long time passed and the soldier began to suspect Barton wouldn't say anything more. But then to his surprise, Clint did speak. His voice was low and barely above a whisper.

"He was my brother."

"I'm-," Steve was about to say sorry, but he promptly closed his mouth before the word would exit. It would mean little to the archer and he would only view it as pity. Instead he opted for a different word. "That's terrible."

It didn't work. "I don't need your pity, Cap. It happened a long time ago. Nothing is going to change it." Clint's tone suggested it was the end of that subject.

"I wasn't offering pity, Barton," Steve quickly assured. He wanted the man to know that this new information didn't change the way he viewed him. "Only sympathy."

It seemed to do the trick well enough for Clint raised an amused eyebrow. "That won't get you very far in this business."

Steve smirked and hoped he didn't overstep the line with his next sentence. "But it might give me some friends to have my back along the way."

Barton didn't speak or answer but his lips quirked at the edges in a small smile that broadened after a little while.

"I never got to thank you, by the way," Steve continued when it looked like Barton wouldn't. "For shooting that guy. You saved my life."

"Don't sweat it, Cap. Guess that only makes us even," Clint casually replied.

And just like that the tension and awkwardness lifted.

Steve knew that he had only gotten a small glimpse into the world of the two assassins and SHIELD. But he was one step closer to figuring out everything this modern and new era he found himself in held for him and the seemingly much darker shades of gray he would come to work and operate in.

But he was certain that when he fully entered it, he knew he had at least two people who would watch his back.

**THE END**


End file.
